


The Better Halves

by DreDri



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Dwalin is a mama bear, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Soulmates, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin has less cognitive skill than a concussed duck, sad things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreDri/pseuds/DreDri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every race has a way to find them, their soulmates. </p><p>But when Bilbo Baggins of The Shire meets his mate, it is nothing like he imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Voice and The Stones

**Author's Note:**

> This is un-beta'd. Enjoy my horrible grammar.
> 
> My tumblr name is Dingus-dang-it

Since having been sung into existence, the forged and carved by thoughts, all beings of Middle Earth were gifted with soul mates. Each race had different ways of finding their other half. Humans had the easiest signal, a pull. Which pulled them towards their intended, it was said to feel like a tug in their gut in one direction or another, all they had to do was follow. Elves had knowledge of theirs, some deep-rooted knowledge they were never alone for long. Dwarves had been gifted with stones, gems that blazed like coals when near their intended. No one knew where they came from, but on the day they walked through the barriers of childhood they found a stone. It was usually a regular stone that to them shone with more light then the others. The Maiar were said to not have soul mates, at least not in the realm in which the meddled.

 

The most curious of all these beings was the Hobbit. They heard their mate’s voice in their dreams, and as steady as a heartbeat is counted down.  When a Hobbit hit the age of 33, it started and young Bilbo Baggins was no different. The day he had started to hear a voice, it was deep and rumbling. It seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. The first night it spoke, it was clear and resounded in his head.

 

“Sixteen years, fifteen days.” When he had told his mother, she had smiled at the plight that danced across his face. Most hobbits heard a matter of days, or weeks. The last Hobbit to have heard such a long span had been a young Took from Brandy Hall, his voice had whispered fifteen years, or so it was said. Then it came to pass, when Bilbo’s mother was still in her tweens, that a group of elves dressed in the cloaks of Lorien had come to Brandy Hall, and a tall Elven Lord had kneeled at the young Hobbit’s feet.

 

So it made Bilbo’s imagination soar, who could his mate be, an elf maybe, or a man? Bilbo explored, and adventured until that is, his father Bungo passed. Then not long after, his mother joined his father. So he settled down, became more respectable. Or as respectable as a bachelor Hobbit could be.

 

The voice had been quiet for so long, there in his sleep still yes, but a whisper, a murmur to where it had once been a yell. That was, until one night as he lay in bed, eyes having just fluttered closed. Sleep settled over him, it happened.

 

“Ten days.” The voice shouted, almost like a battle cry. It shook him to his bones, and he lay awake most of the night, heart in his throat. The next days were filled with him, attempting to go about his daily routine. But he found he wasn’t really hungry, and that packing his pipe seemed much harder with shaking hands. And each night, the fierce voice spoke to him, the tone becoming huskier and huskier the lower the number got. His stomach fluttered and he felt more settled and content than he ever had before, even having lived in the Shire his entire life.

 

So that final day, he woke up. Nerves humming, and stomach fluttering. But he made himself eat a second breakfast, and decided to grab the mail with his pipe clenched between his teeth.

 

When Gandalf the Grey came upon him, Bilbo gawked and pretended not to remember the Maiar. Even though he did, he remembered his mother pouring the tall Wizard tea, and sitting upon the man’s knee.

 

"Good morning!" said Bilbo, and he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green, and of course the voice in his head had huskily whispered “One day.”  But Gandalf looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out farther than the brim of his shady hat.

 

 

 

"What do you mean?" he said. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"

 

"All of them at once," said Bilbo, clicking the bit of his pipe between his teeth.

 

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it is very difficult to find anyone.” Gandalf leant on his staff, giving the Hobbit a smile, as the smoke rings flew over the hill.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Bilbo had turned the Wizard away, he had better things to do than run off on some adventure. He was going to be meeting his mate. So he went about the day, all but forgetting Gandalf and the fact he had invited him for tea the next day. But since he was a Hobbit that needed to write things down such as “Thursday, tea, Gandalf.”  He did not remember.

 

So when he was sitting down to tea, trying to make himself happy, because he was supposed to meet them that day, but no one had shown up yet, though when a knock resounded on his door he almost slipped right off the chair and onto the floor.

 

His heart was in his throat, but then he remembered. Gandalf, like a fool of a Took he had offered the Wizard tea. Sighing with resignation, he quickly set out another cup and saucer, and then added some poppy seed cake and tomatoes to the table. They knocked again, and it was thunderous.

 

“Coming! Coming!” Bilbo quickly got to the door and opened it, to find a rather large intimidating dwarf in his door.

 

“Dwalin,” the dwarf bowed. “At your service.”

 

“Bilbo Baggins at yours.” answered the baffled Hobbit.

 

The chaos that followed passed in a blur. This ended with Bilbo chasing after his doilies and plates, and generally making a fool out of himself. He had all but forgotten about his mate, having twelve dwarves and a Wizard running amuck in his house. However, when everything had calmed down, a final knock came at the door. The sun had set, and they had gotten a large fire burning in the hearth.

 

“Ah, our final member joins us.” Gandalf walked to the door and pulled it open. The dwarf standing there seemed to fill the doorway, his stern and regal demeanor seemingly taking the whole hall.

 

“Gandalf.” said the dwarf.

 

Bilbo vaguely heard Gandalf make the introduction of Thorin Oakenshield, because he knew that voice. He had heard it for over sixteen years. Nevertheless, it seemed as Thorin made a doubt filled comment about him, the dwarf did not see anything special in him. It wasn’t unheard of, where one soul connected with another which wasn’t their intended. It was said that such an existence was almost unbearable.

 

Even with the coal, which seemed to have settled in his stomach, Bilbo listened to their tale. Moreover, when, at the end of the night Gandalf cornered him; He stuttered out that he was Baggins of Bag End. The dubious and slightly disappointed look the Wizard gave him, made him retreat into his room.

 

However, when that voice, the same voice he had heard for sixteen odd years, began to sing he wanted to scream or cry. He could not place which one he wanted to do more. And when he woke up in the morning, he had somehow already made his choice.

 

* * *

 

Fili and Kili, Thorin’s nephews Bilbo came to find out, had taken a shine to him and had decided to try to teach him to fight. After the Troll debacle, this seemed wise. But Bilbo had little skill with a sword. It felt strange and clumsy in his hands, and Nori, Dori and Ori had been trying to shout pointers, not that it helped.

 

Then with some stroke of genius, or insanity Kili forced his bow into the Hobbit’s hand, he surprised everyone, even himself at his skill. His small nimble fingers and sharp eye allowed him to shoot the weapon with ease, even if he’d have to build up the muscles in his shoulders and arms if he wanted to be any good.

 

The week following, Fili, Kili and surprisingly Dwalin help him fashion a bow. Though Bifur helped him carve and shape the bow and the shafts of his arrows. The tips and fletching were a bit harder to come by, so his bow and arrows set unfinished for most of the trip, bundled up in a roll of leather.

 

It wasn’t much longer before they found themselves in Rivendell. The brothers began to figure out a way to get fletching, arrowheads and a bowstring. Somehow, their interest had not gone unnoticed by the keen eyed beings.

 

Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Lord Elrond came upon the brothers near the armory. The dwarves were quick to attempt to avoid their questions, but were presented with the needed items.

 

“We would be happy to fashion a bow as well.” said Elladan. But Kili frowned up at him, and held the items loosely in his hands.

 

“No. We can do it ourselves. Thanks.” Fili said tersely, he wouldn’t openly offend the sons of Lord Elrond but he was still a dwarf. They could make the Hobbit’s bow themselves. “Our thanks for these supplies.”

 

The elven brothers smiled, and dipped their heads and left the two-dwarven brothers to their own devices. So Fili and Kili made quick work of getting back to where the Hobbit was and presented him with the final pieces to his bow and arrows.

 

“We can finish yours now, Mr.Boggins!” Kili grinned from ear to ear. The three had then sat around, Kili teaching Bilbo how to fletch his arrows correctly, and how to make a string the right length for his bow. Bilbo learnt quickly. Soon Kili and he could be found at a small range that elves used for practice.

 

The two had gathered a small crowd of fair-skinned elves, all who watched in interest the two beings practicing a skill the immortal beings were known for.

 

* * *

 

When they left Rivendell fleeing the white council’s scrutiny Bilbo did not know how he felt. He was glad to still be with the company, but the ice-cold stones, which had settled in his gut made him, want to turn back. It was absolutely, the worst experience he had ever had. The heavy, soul crushing weight of being so near his intended and yet seemingly so far was making him fade. It was said that being so near a soulmate and having them no return the feeling of connection killed. This was truer in hobbits. They faded, became wisps of their former selves. They lived on, living as long as their other part did but never truly living. They existed, not much of a life.

 

Bilbo could feel it settling over him more and more. He felt it in Rivendell, as wasting feeling. The more they travelled the more it dug its claws in.

 

* * *

 

The rain made the path slick, and Bilbo was so sure he’d die in that pass. The dwarves helped keep him on the ledge. The stones giants had them fleeing, and it was amazing to see. But the adrenaline pumping through his veins made Bilbo feel invincible.

 

When they were split up on the giant’s legs, Bilbo heard Fili’s sob of distress. But was helpless to do anything, clinging to the black stone of the monster’s legs. Bilbo pretended to ignore the second sob that escaped Fili’s mouth as Kili and the other’s jumped to safety. Bilbo was glad that he may end this way at least, he thought, he wouldn’t fade.

 

As they flew across the crevasse upon the leg of the beast, Bilbo grabbed Fili’s hand and closing his eyes. When his companions raised a yell the Hobbit’s eyes flew open, and he watched in horrific relief as they careened towards it.  He expected impact, but he just slipped of the edge, and found his hands gripping at the edge out of instinct. He could hear Thorin, the heart-shattering scream. Knowing it wasn’t for him, but the kin, which made more sense. Bilbo accepted the fact that he was just a gentlehobbit, far from his home.

 

When they called for him, Bilbo desperately wanted to let go but felt that his mother would frown upon him, would tell him to fight, and his Took side agreed. Therefore, he tried to grab for Bofur’s hand, but it was so far away, his arms too short. Then Thorin swung down and lifted him up, and Bilbo felt a jolt of joy at this. Then an almost immediate flow of fear as Thorin almost fell.

 

Dwain grinned at his stunned face. “I thought we had lost our Burglar!” He sounded glad that the Hobbit wasn’t dead.

 

“He has been lost since ever he left home. We should never have let him come.” Thorin’s gruff voice cut through everything, through the wind, rain and bitter noises of the dwarves. Bilbo closed his eyes and took a breath, trying to quell the physical pain the acrimonious words caused him. The pain rivaled that of the Fell Winter, of the loss of his parents and Bilbo almost let out a sob. Nevertheless, Bofur and Bombur hefted him up and into the cave that Dwalin and Thorin had inspected and found to be a suitable shelter.

 

That night he knew he had to leave. Being this near to Thorin was making him feel so torn and broken that he wouldn’t be able to function soon. So he packed his bag in the middle of the night, and was headed back to Rivendell.

 

But for Bofur, strangely the first dwarf, who had treated him kindly, had stopped him. Had said he was part of the company, he knew this. He felt it, but they did not know. Could not know, because something about Thorin’s scorn made it seem wrong for Bilbo to tell anyone. So he lied, lied about missing his home. Tried to find words that would hurt the dwarf, so he would let him go. It had worked, and Bilbo felt bile rise in his throat.

 

“What’s that?” Bofur’s inquiry made Bilbo glance at the letter opener. The bottom of Bilbo’s stomach fell out, even when Thorin yelled for them to come to action. But it was too late; the floor opened up and swallowed them. Bilbo felt his heart thudding against his chest like a trapped rabbit.

 

The following moments of his life, Bilbo was certain that he would die. From falling off the bridges, to meeting the horrid creature and finding that shining ring. But he felt that it was a blink of his eye, so fast and frightening that he would hardly be able to recall most of it. But as soon as he jumped over the creature’s nasty head, and made it out into the waning light of the sun relief flooded him.

 

Thorin’s words against him spurred him on, an anger boiling up in chest at the insinuation that he left because of such things like his books. So snubbing Thorin had given him pleasure, but it was soon lost as the howls of Wargs sounded.

 

It was times like these that Bilbo was thankful for his Tookish ways when he was younger. He climbed the tree as fast as he possibly could, long toes gripping the tree as he went up. Not that it helped much in the end, as the trees toppled over like books on a shelf without a bookend. He watched as the dwarves around him faced their deaths, and he his. But it was much worse watching Thorin, that softheaded fool, run off into battle against the Pale Orc by himself.

 

But to his own surprise Bilbo found himself charging an Orc and impaling it on his sword. But he stood between his mate and the monstrous Orc who grinned at him. Bilbo would die, of this, he was sure, but he was glad then that Thorin and he had not bonded. So that their life forces were free of each other, and in that Thorin could still reclaim his lost home.

 

When a battle cry rose from the other dwarves, who had managed to get out of the tree, Bilbo was a bit disappointed. But he did not have time to come to terms with that, as he was scooped up by an eagle. Then he had eyes only for the limp figure of the king.

 

Bilbo truthfully could not feel any happier than he did the moment Thorin stood on The Carrock, and had never felt more dread until the steel blue eyes landed on him. The ire of the dwarf king washed over him, and Bilbo shifted uncomfortably on his feet. But when Thorin embraced him, Bilbo’s heart jumped in his chest. After his initial joy at being so close to his mate, the ache from not being bonded weighed him down.

 

That evening, after descending into the forest and somehow collecting enough wood, they sat about happy to be alive. Bilbo sat feet tucked close to the fire, back leaning about on the rocks where they had taken shelter. But Bilbo found himself recruited by Dori, to help Ori collect large flat stones to warm by the fire.

 

Ori was a sweet and gentle dwarf, surprisingly. Beyond that, Ori loved books just about as much as the Hobbit did and it endeared him to Bilbo. So he followed the sweater-wearing dwarf into the trees looking for perfect rocks that they could heat, and that each dwarf could hold during the night. Bilbo had tucked a large stone under his arm, when he noticed that Ori was frozen in place. The youth seemed to be struck senseless, staring mutely at a small pile of rubble.

 

“Ori, is everything alright?” Bilbo walked over just as Ori bent over to pick up a stone, that when laying there looked ordinarily dull, which blazed with gold-green light in the dwarf’s hand. Bilbo stared, blinking slowly at the once dull stone, which glimmered like diamonds.

 

“I did not think I would ever find it.” Murmured the young dwarf. He turned and looked at Bilbo a lopsided grin on his face. “It is my soulstone.” Ori clutched it in his hand.

 

Slowly with eight stones in hand, nine if you included Ori’s soulstone they returned to the camp. They set them near the fire to warm, and Ori sat between Fili and Kili cradling the stone in his hand. The two brothers crowded around him to look and patted his back at the sight of the stone.

 

“It is very nice Ori.” Said Fili smiling happily at the blush that flooded across Ori’s face.

 

Kili looked at the stone and then turned towards Bilbo suddenly. “Do Hobbit’s have Soulstones?”

 

Bilbo was stunned for a moment. He did not know how to answer, not quite sure what a soulstone was. Therefore, he glanced between the three youngest dwarves. “What exactly is a soulstone?”

 

Kili squawked in surprise as Fili pushed him off the log before he could speak. “It helps us find our soulmates.” The elder brother spoke.

 

“It glows bright when we are near them-“

 

“It has different colors-.”

 

“Like Ori’s means his soulmate is male-“

 

“A warrior-”

 

“And going to be his lover.”

 

Bilbo nodded as they spoke, and smiled at Ori, who was now blushing even more furiously.

 

“So do you?” Kili asked, invading Bilbo’s space.

 

“Do I what?” Bilbo asked, mind having wandered away wondering if Thorin had a soulstone.

 

“Have a soulstone.” Fili had appeared on his other side, and all of the other dwarves, excluding Dwalin, Balin and Oin who sat to the side talking is hushed voices, were watching him in interest. Even Thorin, who sat just outside the fire light leaning on a boulder, was watching him with his piercing gaze.

 

“Oh. No. No, we have something else.” Bilbo looked at his toes, and glanced up when Kili bumped shoulders with him.

 

“So what do hobbits ‘ave?” Bofur asked from across the fire, where he sat elbows on knees.

 

“We have a voice, it uh- well it counts down the years, months and days until we meet out mate.” Silence fell.

 

“Do you have a voice?” Asked Ori, eyes wide with wonder.

 

“I did.” Bilbo said simply.

 

“You met your mate?” Gloin asked gruffly in disbelief.

 

Bilbo did not answer; he did not want to say yes, even though he had. It could be worse, if he said he had, and then they would question him. Why had he left them? Why had he lived alone in his home?

 

“You do not have to answer them laddie.” Bofur had elbowed Gloin in the ribs and gave Bilbo a dimple-filled smile.

 

“Yeah, sorry.” Mumbled Kili who pulled a stone from under his shirt and showed Bilbo. “This is my soulstone, it hasn’t so much as glimmer since I found it.” He smiled somewhat morosely. “But I have hope.”

 

Bilbo took a large breath and spoke. “My voice counted down, but nothing happened.”

 

“Did you meet them?” Kili said sounded surprised.

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

Silence fell over the dwarves, a Bilbo saw each dwarf within hearing range twirl a bead, or lay a hand over his breastbone. Bilbo realized they were all touching their own Soulstones. Thorin however was gazing across the fire, and Bilbo did everything not to meet his eyes.

 

“Enough.” came the king’s voice over the group. “We must rest.” His voice was deep, and annoyed. “To bed.” The company grumbled but moved to obey.

 

* * *

 

The following morning found the company rising early by Gandalf’s will. They packed the meager belongings, which had survived the goblin cave, and the eagle’s flight, beginning the short journey from The Carrock to the home of Gandalf’s friend.

 

The two-day journey was filled with stories from Gloin and Bombour about their own mates, and children. It made the travel happier, and laughs could be heard from each member, even solemn Thorin chuckled.

 

There were lively tales of Gimli son of Gloin, and of Bombour’s gaggle of children were great, and told the story of how well Thorin had done for his people.  It made Bilbo smile at the king’s back.

 

When they began walking through fields of flowers with large, hovering honeybees Bilbo felt relaxed, and some tension that had settled in his shoulders melted away. It felt like home, as if he were walking the rolling hills of the Shire once again. But he knew, quite painfully he was not. The bees were bigger than his hands, and the terrain was still rough, even on his hardened feet.

 

Soon they had arrived at the large house, having to come in twos to convince the giant skin-changer to take them in. Beorn was a boisterous host, laughing at their tales as they feasted. It was surreal and Bilbo had to rub his eyes a few times to make certain that this was happening.

 

“Little Bunny should eat more.” Guffawed Beorn, who was apparently talking to the Hobbit.

 

“I am not hungry.” Bilbo said tersely, and then hastily added “Thank you.”

 

The sun was still high enough in the sky for Bilbo to slip away and smoke his pipe, one of the few things that had survived his fall through the caves. So he did, sitting at the back of the house, feet dangling off the edge of the building, watching as the last few bees lazily buzzed about.

 

It was there that Dwalin found him. The gruff, bald warrior settled next to the shorter Hobbit. He was missing his armor, the cotton tunic he wore was old, worn and dirty but it did not make him any less intimidating.

 

“Wha’s on your mind laddie?” The dwarf asked, pulling a pipe out and lighting it easily.

 

“It is…it’s nothing.” Bilbo puffed at his pipe, and ignoring the fact that the dwarf was now looking at him, actually more like glowering.

 

“I’m not an idiot, I heard all the talk about Soulstones.” Dwalin puffed at his pipe a few times. “It is a hard thing not having a soulmate. I reckon meeting yours and nothing coming about, could be mighty upsetting.”

 

Bilbo grumbled, puffing his pipe. Dwalin fell silent and they sat beside the other easily. Dawlin rested his pip on his knee and let out a half sigh, half laugh. Bilbo looked over at him eyebrows raised.

 

“I’m no good at dancing around issues laddie, not like my brother.”

 

“Oh?”  Bilbo put his pipe down also.

 

“This voice of yours stopped counting down the night the company showed up, didn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question.

 

Bilbo paled a bit, and stared straight ahead. Dwalin was back to smoking his pipe, but he was watching the Hobbit out of the corner of his eye. The tattooed dwarf blew a smoke ring, and let out a rough chuckle.

 

“I’ll keep your secret, laddie.” The dwarf pulled out a stone that was long, sleek and black, and to Bilbo looked like a good skipping rock. “Especially from a certain king.” Dwalin twirled the rock between two fingers.

 

“I- how did you know?” Bilbo was staring at the dwarf in question.

 

“You just had a look about you, the first time you met him. I saw how much his words hurt you. Could beat him senseless if you want.” Dwalin smiled and chuckled a bit when Bilbo shook his head. “Why don’t you tell him?”

 

Bilbo watched his feet, curling and uncurling his toes. Nothing came to mind, because how could one just tell their soulmate that they were, in fact soulmates.

 

“Dwarves, laddie only know their mates when the stone glows.” Dwalin said tucking the tethered stone under his tunic.

 

“And he-“ Bilbo’s voice was quiet.

 

“Aye, he has a stone. Hasn’t seen the light of day in a long time.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“When a Hobbit’s mate dies what happens, before they bond?” Dwalin lowered his pipe.

 

“The voice goes quiet, then we fade. Not like elves, but we just exist. Why?” Bilbo meets the dwarf’s eyes.

 

“When a dwarf loses their mate, before bonding. We have no way of knowing. The stone stays dull until we meet them, and if they die, it is just again a stone. But we cannot tell.” Dwalin fingers his stone through the cloth of his tunic. “I believe that Thorin does not wish to have hope for a mate.”

 

“That is understandable.” Bilbo said. Looking over the flower fields in the fading light of day.

 


	2. The Fading of the Elves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always point out any glaring mistakes and I'll fix em'. Non-beta'd

Mirkwood, Bilbo decided, was nothing like the East Farthing. It was dank, dark and claustrophobic. He hoped he would never have to pass through such a place again. Little sleep found him, true most of the company found little sleep. Besides who would want to sleep, where the darkness was so think is seemed to grab one with thin, wraith like fingers. It made the hobbit’s skin crawl, and seemed to make him colder than he had ever felt before.

He found himself hovering closer to Thorin because of it, not that the crownless king seemed to actually mind.  He had been almost friendly to the hobbit, but no friendlier than he had been to the other company members, besides Fili, Kili, Balin, and Dwalin. But they had known each other for years or in Fili and Kili’s case were his kin. So Bilbo took none of it to heart, he was now just another member of the company. He did not delude himself into thinking that Thorin suddenly knew they were soulmates. He was a trusted companion, nothing more. Besides, Dwalin had clearly stated that a dwarf wouldn’t know until they saw their stone glow. Bilbo held no hope in the fact that Thorin even had his stone, maybe he had lost it in the sacking of Erebor, or afterwards when they had been traveling a lost, and desolate people.

No, Bilbo held no hope in that. He was a Took, but not a fool of a Took his Baggins blood made him understand that life was not always fair. So he smiled, and was glad for what companionship he got. Dwalin had been true to his word, having kept tight lipped. However, the increasingly dark looks he was shooting at Thorin were a bit obvious. But the king ignored them easily, a feat which Bilbo would have trouble doing.

The path was dark, each step felt like an adventure all on its own, but he stumbled between Thorin and Dwalin in line just as easily as the rest of them. That was, of course until everything fell to pieces. First, their rations ran low; they had carried too little a fact the realized too late. The miserable grumbling, and long suffering sighs began to became common sounds to be heard within the group. Secondly, Bombur fell into the river falling into a heavy sleep, which seemed unbreakable. His brother, and cousin were beside themselves in worry, well Bofur was. Bilbo could not really tell with Bifur.

This would have been bad enough, Bilbo supposed. Starving, and forced to carry their heaviest member but he also supposed that would have been too easy. So when a light shone ahead, all the dwarves rushed forward. The elves who had been in the clearing, feasting and making merry disappeared, and the dwarves carried on. Until, that is, it happened again. Over and over the elves appeared and disappeared. Two more times it happened, until Bilbo could not find anyone, he was lost. Fear had clenched at his fluttering heart. Soon though his eyes grew heavy and it seemed as if the air itself was willing him to rest. So he did, laying against a tree Bilbo fell asleep.

When he next awakes, his legs are bound. The stick substance makes his stomach lurch. However, not as much as the large spider that advanced towards him with graceful movements, and snapping pincers. With less graceful jerks and pulls, Bilbo pulled free and wielding his letter opener took off the spider’s legs before slaying the beast.

He was alone, that much he knew. It was obvious. He could not see, nor hear, nor smell the company of dwarves he had once been a part of. Bilbo was quite sure he could have smelled them from ten meters away. Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, he listened. He strained his ears, the pointed tips twitching slightly much as if he was near the Sackville-Bagginses. But he heard little, until that is a muffled sound caught his attention. Moving stealthily along, much like only a hobbit could, Bilbo found nothing but the web of the spiders. A place he would rather not be.

A muffled sound greeted him again, and he whipped around until he looked closely at one of the large sacks, which he had taken as large egg sacks, and realized he was in fact looking at his companions. Slipping on his little golden ring, Bilbo saw them. More large spiders some were milling about while others prodded at the dwarves wrapped in their white mucus.

Protectiveness flooded through Bilbo’s small body and he flew into action, hacking at the spiders that moved close enough to him. They skittered about, high, hissing voices trying to pin point him with little success. He moved and swerved stabbing all he could until they fled, giving his sword a name; Sting.  

Replacing his sword into its scabbard Bilbo drew his bow and an arrow. He took aim, loosing the arrow at the nearest sack, which had Bofur tumbling to the ground from a three-foot drop. He open a few more of the sacks that way, the low hanging ones of course, not wanting to accidently snapping the neck of one of his friends.

The five he had freed, Bofur, Bifir, Oin, Fili and Dwalin stared around in quiet wonder until he slipped the ring off his finger while behind a tree. The dwarves grinned at him, Dwalin giving him a hard clap on his shoulder. The still unsteady dwarves then began to help cut down their other companions, Fili running right for Kili, Bifur and Bofur to Bombur, Dwalin to Balin and Oin to Gloin. This left Bilbo with cutting down the ‘Ri brothers which seemed a little impossible. The three sacks hung high in a tree, and Bilbo wasn’t quite sure how he would get them down without hurting or even worse killing them.

He ended up hooking each sack and pulling them onto the thick branch where he stood, and slowly rolling them to the bottom where the other dwarves let them out of the webbing. Bilbo himself cut Dori from the webbing and stood back.

Bifur snapped something in  Khudzul and Bilbo nodded without batting an eyelash.

“You’re right Bifur, we are one dwarf short.” Bilbo pulled out his bow once again, and smiled at the group. “Wait here, I’ll go see if I can find him.” Stepping behind the tree line, and through some hanging webs Bilbo began to look for another hanging pod. He did not want to wander any farther but he also did not want to leave his soulmate hanging in a spider’s web. He was going to turn back, maybe see if Dwalin or Gloin would help him in his search, turning he found himself surrounded by the tall, lean figures of elves.

“We’ve found another.” Said one voice, distinctly female. He was frog marched to where the dwarves were being tied up, and Bilbo was tied to the back of the line. During the trek through the forest, Bilbo understood the dwarves disdain for the fair race. They were yanked, pulled and prodded through the thick trees until a great fortress came into view, it didn’t tower about the trees but seemed to blend into the scenery. Being dragged into a large throne room, the twelve dwarves and single hobbit, were under the hard glare of  an impressive elf, who lounged lazily on his throne.

“So more dwarves, and a hobbit.” His bland tone raised slightly at the mention of Bilbo. “What a strange motley crew.” Stepping down from the throne the king walked before the line of dwarves all who looked ahead blankly. The elf lord then stood in front of Bilbo, staring down his nose at the dirty, and more than irritated hobbit. “What is a Halfling of the Shire doing with such unsavory characters?”

Bilbo saw red for a moment. “You and I may have different opinions of what is unsavory.” He didn’t know why he had said it, but he could not say he regretted it, if the stricken expression, which he planned to commit to his fondest memories, on the lord’s face has anything to say about it.

They were then dragged from the room and stripped of weapons and most of their gear. All of the dwarves were thrown into cells. Bilbo sat in his cell alone, all the dwarves having been paired off and thrown into dank cells.

They were guarded constantly by uninterested looking guards, who ignored the rough, angry insults the dwarves threw at them. It had been, maybe but a day when an elf dressed in armor and with royal bearing dismissed the guards. He then turned his sharp, blue eyes on the dwarves pausing briefly on Fili and Kili before taking in Bilbo too.

“I am Legolas.” Said the elf.

“We don’t care laddie, what do you want?” Balin’s usual jovial tone was dark and bitter.

“I am curious about dwarves, I have had little contact with them.” At this, many of the dwarves turned away, but the elf looked unsurprised. “I have also come to tell you, that your other member is further in the dungeons. My father is quite interested to know why you were in the wood.”

“Of course you pointy-eared bastards have him!” Roared Dwalin. The elf shrugged in a non-committal way.

“I have been trying to have him moved here, but my father is stubborn.” The prince sat gracefully down on the chair facing the dwarves. “I give you my word I will get him closer to you.

It was a few days later, that Thorin was frog marched into the cell across from Dwalin and Balin. The company happily welcomed him back, roughly conversing in Khudzul.

“Where’s the hobbit?” Thorin said suddenly, faced pressed against the bars of his cell.

“I’m over here.” Bilbo was beside Nori and Ori, and the king looked at him.

“What in Durin’s name did you say to that tight lipped ponce?” Thorin had a wiry grin on his face.

“It was great!” Shouted Kili with a chortle. The rest of the company agreed and Thorin raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Called the elf unsavory he did!” Gloin stated chuckling heartily under his breath. The company then dissolved into making sure the king was in one piece, and asking when the tree-shaggers, as they called the elves, had captured him.

As it turns out, when the sleeping spell as it had surely been had taken the company, Thorin had been taken before the spiders had shown up. The elves had left the rest of the company to die in the dark forest, showing the fair race’s true colors. They had only come to find them because of the increased activity of the spiders that had now infected the once named Greenwood.

The company in the following days, found themselves in the company of the elf prince more and more. He’d ask noninvasive questions about the dwarven culture, and since it was obviously his doing that got Thorin moved with them, Blain answered them in short, clipped sentences. It also came to pass that the dwarves began to find things that they missed appearing in their cells. Food, blankets, and pipeweed a few of the items that were returned.

It was Thorin however, who noticed that Kili was never left wanting. So one night, as the rest of the company slept Thorin feigned sleep and watched the cells. Kili had bemoaned the loss of his fiddle and the elf prince had asked what type of music that dwarves played. Thorin suspected the elf had intensions towards his youngest nephew and it made his stomach twist.  What would an elf lord want with those he had raised as his own, he was sure it was malicious. It always was.

When the tall lean figure of the elf prince came into view, holding two fiddles he watched as they were placed just outside the bars. The blond being stood there for a moment, and from the angle Thorin lay he could see an almost pained expression on his face.

“What,” Thorin started, in a low tone but the elf turned towards him. “are your intentions towards my nephew?”

“I do not unders-” Thorin stood and pointed at him in a jabbing motion, though he kept his voice a harsh whisper.

“My eyes are not fooled Master Elf.” The prince looked surprised but seemed to deflate almost immediately.

“He is my Êl.” Legolas rubbed his face with one long finger hand. “My soulmate, I believe in the word.”

“How do you know?” The question was hissed from between clenched teeth.

“I’m not surprised you know little of how we find our soulmates. We see strings, paths that connect things to another. Lord Elrond is one of the strongest with foresight. Though every elf has a slight talent in it, if only to find them. I have anticipated these days, Throin son of Thrain.” The heaviness in the elf’s eyes made Thorin shift uncomfortably. Then the prince had moved away, up the sleek stone steps leaving the dwarven king to think on the other’s words.

The following morning, the dwarves and their burglar hobbit were woken by a jaunty tune played on a pair of fiddles. Despite knowing the intention behind the gift, Thorin find himself smiling as his nephews happily played on their fiddles.

That day, when Legolas came down the steps looking bedraggled and tired Thorin watched as his blue eyes shifted over the group and paused briefly on Kili with a soft smile. Thorin knew that if Kili’s stone glowed, that if Kili knew the elf was his soulmate he would have to live with it.

“Master elf.” He rumbled and everyone fell silent. “Tell me of elven soulmates.” It was a veiled order, but the huff of laughed he received from the prince made him feel a bit rude, not that he’d say that out loud.

“We have foresight, Master Dwarf.” The amusement in his tone was lost on the rest of the group, who didn’t know that Thorin had heard this already. “We all have the foresight of our soulmates, catching glimpses of paths, of potential meetings. It is a hard existence, know where they might be and not going to them.”

“Why not just go find them?” Kili’s voice said from down the row, Fili nodded next to him.

Legolas smiled at him, and Thorin’s chest clenched. “If we were to do that, we might never meet. Unless we are to meet, we wait.”

“And if you never meet?” Dwalin’s gruff tone seemed a searing contrast to Legolas’ tone. “Or you meet and nothing happens?”

“If we never meet, it is as all other I suppose. We live, exist more precisely for as long as we are able. However if out intended rejects us, or is not ours. As it has been known to happen for one soul to be connected to, two others and they choose. We fade, wasting away into not but a shade before death takes us.” The silence was deafening, when he finished. That was until another soft voice spoke.

“Hobbits are the same way.” The company all turned, almost as one to stare. “We fade and die.” The silence had taken a sour tone, where once it was just contemplating silence that violence in the air was almost tangible.

“Does that mean Mr.Boggins-” Kili was cut off by Fili clamping a hand over his mouth.

“Yes, Kili I’m most likely going to fade.”

Dwalin glared so intensely at his king that even Thorin could not shrug it off. Why was, Thorin wondered, Dwalin directing his ire at him?

 


	3. Stones and Daisies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still un-beta'd because I'm a lazy sod who forgot she had a person who said they'd do it. 
> 
> My most sincere apologies.

Legolas paced outside his father’s study. Thranduil was a loving and caring parent Legolas would admit, the fact that Legolas was eternally connected to a dwarf did cause strain on their relationship. His father hated dwarves, had done so centuries before he had been born.

Leaning on the wall, forehead pressed hard against it the young elf sighed. He wanted his father to free the dwarves, but even allowing Thorin Oakenshield to be moved had been like attempting to push an ent over.

“Legolas, I do know you are out there.” Thranduil’s bland voice carried through the wooden door.

Legolas pushed the door open and found his father leaning on the mantle of the fireplace, a wine glass in one hand. The elder elf barely turned his head to look at his son, rolling the stem of the glass between his fingers.

“I suppose, my son, you want me to free the dwarves.” The tone was tired, at least to Legolas.

“Yes, father.”

“Are you certain, that this dwarf is it?” Thranduil’s usual blank expression was pinched with worry. Worry that his son would put his faith in a dwarf.

“Beyond a doubt.” Legolas stood awkwardly in front of the now closed door. The first time this had come up he had been forced to duck out of the room as a wine glass came flying towards him. He wasn’t exactly sure how this conversation was going, it was all too calm when considering their last confrontation.

“I do not want you to be harmed by a child of Aule.” Thranduil set his glass on the mantle and turned towards his son, a slight frown on his face. “I have seen many elves fade over them.”

Legolas walked slowly up to his father, and reached out but not touching. “I feel like it will be different.”

Thranduil seemed to finally focus on his son, where as before he seemed to be lost in time. “I will help you. But if you come to harm nothing with stay my wrath.”

Legolas nodded his understanding. When he was enveloped in a hug he relaxed, hugs had become few and far between. Legolas was sure this was one he’d remember for ages to come, as it felt as if his father was attempting to cling to him in the hopes that he’d not start this horrible venture.

“Go free the dwarves, give them the old dwarvan wing. Allow them to eat and wash. I will speak with Thorin Oakenshield when he is decent.”

Legolas pulled away and smiled sweetly at his father before turning and walking out. He didn’t see Thranduil throw the glass into the fire place spitting curses.

* * *

Legolas headed straight down into the dungeons, after making sure the rooms had been aired out and their belongings placed inside, a grin spread across his face. He slowed himself to a walk and attempted to school his features into a look of serene happiness instead of the ecstatic joy he felt.

When the cells came into view and the guards had shot up from their slouched positions Legolas spoke. “Open the cells; I must take our guests to their rooms.”

Stunned silence followed until Legolas glared coldly at the guards who then jumped to comply. The dwarves all stood dumbfounded, as the cells were open, until the elf prince spoke again.

“If you’d follow me, please.” The dwarves trailed behind Legolas in stunned silence they weaved through hallways, and many elves seemed to actively avoid the company. The rooms they arrived at were carved of stone, and obviously made for dwarves. In the main room, their possessions were laid around a table piled high with hearty stews, meats and vegetables.

“Master Thorin.” Legolas said as the company surged forward, stopping the king in his tracks. “My father wishes to speak with you, when you are rested and fed of course.” Then he gave a slight bow and left the room.

Thorin frowned darkly but turned to gather his armor and weapons. After attaching Orcist to his back and a dagger to his side, Thorin moved to eat some food with his companions. The Ri brothers had disappeared to bath, it seemed so Thorin made a note in his mind to save some of the food for them or else Bombur would surly eat it all.

The feast was merry, though Bilbo disappeared halfway through it to bath also. The mood turned sour when Thorin knew he’d have to meet with Thranduil. There were various shouts of distaste at this, nevertheless standing he spoke to the group.

“No I’ve been summoned to speak with our gracious host.” The last two words were spat viciously. However, the company waved him off, shouting colorful suggestions of what to say.

When he stepped into the hallway, an elven guard nodded at him. “Follow me.” The disdain in his voice was clear but Thorin grit his teeth and nodded. The walk was long and winding, but Thorin didn’t show his irritation. He had dealt with Thranduil’s games before the fall of Erebor with his father and grandfather. Knowing also that his nephew was going to be pulled into the elf’s family made him try to hold himself in the regal standing of his birth.

He was lead to a large study, when the door was opened Thranduil nodded at the guard and allowed the dwarf into the room. Thorin recognized the room where he had accompanied his father on a few occasions to the elven king’s home. If memory served him right, he had highly disliked this room and even with age he felt a scowl settle on his face.

“I’m sure you know why I have asked you here.” Thranduil had turned his back and was striding towards the desk, where he sat regally.

“Indeed. Are you to forbid it?” Thorin’s voice was just as bland.

“No, it is not my intention. Does your nephew know?” Thranduil looked uninterested, but Thorin could see the glint of parental wrath behind his eyes.

“He has not seen his stone glow.” Thorin conceded and the elf nodded slightly.

“My son has already set his heart on your nephew, if he should fade.” The threat hung in the air, and Thorin nodded. “Since this circumstance was unseen, I shall endeavor to help you reclaim your home. As this is obviously, what your intention is. You may rest here, and attempt to figure out how to defeat the wyrm. There are tomes in the library on his kind, I recommend having someone read them.”

Thorin watched the elf’s face. “This is gracious.”

“I do this if you answer one question.”

Shutters fell over Thorin’s face, automatically becoming defensive. “And that is?” He tone was harsh and cold.

“Why the Halfling?”

The question caught the dwarf king off guard for a second, hooking his thumbs on his belt he answered. “Gandalf suggested that he come.”

A small almost invisible smile came to the elf’s face. “Of course.” Then he stood in one swift motion. “I would suggest a bath and some rest Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin ignored the veiled insult and bowed slightly. Then said; “I would the suggest the same for you.”

* * *

Dwalin walked down the hallway as if he owned it. Elves glowered at him and he just glared right back. Dori had sent him to fetch the youngest member of their group, not including the hobbit. Ori had been sent to the library to look at the acclaimed dragon books, and had yet to show up for any meal. Therefore, Dwalin was sent to fetch him while Dori dealt with Nori, who had pick-pocketed four elves in the last two hours.

Dwalin grumbled under his breath about the thief, who he had chased about as a guardsman. Nori had been on his best behavior, and he really wasn’t mad for him stealing from the elves. Dwalin twirled his stone between his fingers as he thought about the sudden change in the elf king’s tune. He knew it had something to do with the little elf prince and Dwalin was trying to place it. Nothing came to mind, he was already to preoccupied with trying to help the hobbit deal with emotionally constipated dwarf king. Most of the company had figured it out, or at least knew it was one of them who had been the hobbit’s voice. He had caught Fili taking his stone out as he passed the hobbit, and he wasn’t the only one. Dwalin had seen a few of the dwarves do this, and it was just making his ability to not strangle Thorin weaken. Dwalin didn’t fret as he walked down the hallway, maybe he brooded, Dori fretted but not him he was a hardened, dwarven warrior.

The library was through large wooden doors, on the complete opposite side of the palace, if that is what one could call it.  Dwalin considered it an elvish hole in the ground. He pushed the door open and the slim elven woman who stood just beside the door scowled openly at him. Nevertheless, he scanned the room with uninterested eyes, and then he spotted a tuft of ginger hair surrounded by towers of books. Chuckling under his breath Dwalin moved towards the younger man, feet silent for such a large dwarf.

Then the room was too bright, and Dwalin was having trouble seeing the closer he got to Ori. The light was pink and obnoxiously bright; then he looked down and gaped. His stone wasn’t just glimmering, it was burning bright like a trapped star. His gaze looked up at Ori’s turned back and he took a large breath through his nose. The warrior’s stomach was in knots as he moved the final few steps.

He had not hoped to dream that his One was still alive. The fear that had rooted in his heart, that his stone would never glow was doused in the burst of joy that shot through him.

“Ori.” The scribe turned around, and the stone seemed to dim as he smiled a bit. Dwalin couldn’t figure out why he had never noticed how beautiful the lad’s smile was, or how his eyes were sharp and smart much like Balin’s.  Ori’s eyes widened a bit, taking in the glowing, shimmering stone that hung around the older dwarf’s neck. His own ink stained fingers pulled a band of leather from under his tunic, showing his own shining stone.

“Oh.” The younger dwarf murmured. Then they locked eyes for a minute before Dwalin scooped up the other and hugged him to his chest and spun, a burst of laughter erupting from his lips. Ori’s own giggles lingered with Dwalin’s boisterous laughter and seemed to echo around the entire room.

It filled the hall, and even echoed down the hallways. The Elven librarian smiled knowingly at her book and watched with dancing eyes as the two left. No one could not smile at newly found soulmates, it lit a flame a deep happiness in all.

Their walk back towards the dwarves’ rooms was filled with Ori’s tittering laughter and Dwalin’s rumbling chuckle, neither quite believing their luck. As they turned the final corner to their rooms, Dori came bustling down the corridor and caught sight of them and their stones. The overly strong dwarf froze for a moment, but a smile flashed to his face. Seeing as how Dwalin had kept a respectable distance from Ori, even if their hands were clasped.

* * *

The celebrations that night went far into the night, Thranduil hosted it in the grand hall, because although the dwarves and elves were to be always at odds, the finding of one’s soulmate was something to be celebrated.

Bilbo sat at one of the large tables, smiling and swaying a bit to the music. Nori had taken up residence beside him, watching the new couple talk in the corner with Thorin and Dori flanking them. The star haired dwarf watched it with narrowed eyes, and then he spoke.

“You should confront him.” Nori remarked, not taking his eyes from his brothers.

“E-excuse me?” Bilbo had frozen and was now gazing at Nori in what could only be horror.

“Although I am loyal to him, Thorin can be quite thick.” Nori gave him a roguish smile. Before standing up and sauntering away towards a group of elves that he slipped through like a shadow.

Biblo allowed his head to thunk onto the table, hoping to render himself unconscious. He had decided that in the end it was better for him not to tell Thorin during the quest. If they survived until the end, then Bilbo might tell him. He knew of course, that by then Thorin would be king and have little use for a hobbit. Sighing Bilbo sat back up to find Dwalin glowering over the king’s head at him.

“Confound these dwarves.” muttered Bilbo as he took a sip of wine. Really, he was a grown hobbit. He didn’t need some large, dwarven, mother bear. It was preposterous, he would deal with this. He could deal with this, he told himself.

He decided to retire, getting away from the knowing glances of Dwalin and at least pretend that everything was normal. However as he stood and moved away from the table a hand pulled him behind a large statue of a elven woman. Bilbo came nose to nose with Kili who was pale as a ghost.

“Mister Boggins!” Stammered Kili, eyes wide and full of worries.

“Kili, what is the matter?” asked Bilbo backing up a bit, so he could take in the cowering figure of the dwarf prince.

“My stone! It glowed!” The prince whispered hotly, pulling out the object in question, which still shimmered.

“Well, that’s good news!” Bilbo forced himself to smile.

“No!” Snapped Kili. “It was the elf prince, the one who helped us when we were prisoners.”

“So you cannot see yourself with an elf?” Bilbo glared darkly at the dwarf.

“No! No! It’s just could you imagine what’s going to happen? Uncle might explode.” Kili was trembling even as he leaned against the statue’s base.

“Kili, look at me.” Bilbo ordered, and then he smiled. “Thorin will be happy for you, and remember what Legolas told us about their soulmates?”

Kili nodded slowly; face smoothing out slightly before he grabbed Bilbo’s shoulders in a vice. “He knew!”

Bilbo chortled and patted the prince’s cheek. “Yes I do believe he did, and I do believe he also helped us get free.”

The grin which split Kili’s face made Bilbo’s heart ache, wondering if Thorin had ever looked so young, or happy.

“Now, I think we should stop hiding.” Bilbo pushed Kili out from behind the statue, causing the dwarf to stumble and almost fall. However, the tall, slim figure of Legolas caught the young dwarf easily, and with a gentle smile.

Kili smiled up at him and grasped his hand lightly, his stance and demeanor changing from a rough, dwarven warrior to that of a prince in the span of a few seconds. “Would you care to dance?” Legolas’ face glowed beautifully when he smiled down at the dwarf.

“That,” said the elf prince. “would be lovely.”

The melancholy cloud which settled over Bilbo at the moment was tangible. Leaning back against the statue himself he covered his face with his hand and let out a shuttering breath. “Now stop that.” He thought angrily at himself, and stood straight. Striding out from behind the statue, he found himself in the grip of the elf king himself.

“Bilbo Baggins, I wish to ask you something.” Bilbo was being dragged from the crowd easily as the elf spoke. When they reached a terrace, Thranduil sat on a bench and turned his gaze over the wood with a grim expression.  Bilbo shifted from foot to foot nervously, before the king spoke.

“Why haven’t you spoke with the dwarf?” His tone held no inflection as he spoke, before he turned to look at the fidgeting hobbit. “You are starting to fade, cousin.”

“Yes I - , cousin?” Bilbo’s eyes were wide, and surprised.

“Did you not know that hobbits are related to elves?”

“No.”

The elf made a sound in the back of his throat and leaned back, crossing his legs as he did. “That is beside the point, you have begun to fade. You could stop this.”

“If you know so much about hobbits, master elf, you know we can have split souls.” Bilbo crossed his arm defensively over his chest. “That could be what had happened.”

“Perhaps.” Thranduil stood, and moved back towards the party.

Bilbo stood out in the night by himself, breathing deep through his nose and trying to put together the frayed pieces of his brain. Whether he spent minutes or hours there, he didn’t know, but when he left for bed the party had quieted down.

* * *

The next morning Bilbo was shuffling about in the garden, which flourished in the light of an oculus that was carved in the ceiling. Thorin had said it was impractical, and a weakness in the defenses. Bilbo couldn’t care for that, it felt like a tiny part of the Shire as there were thriving tomatoes and lush flowers. He sat in the middle of the flowers making a daisy chain happily. It was a moment’s peace for his aching heart and soul. He felt an easy smile pull at his lips, nothing but his own joy of the flower causing it.

When gray boots came into his view, Bilbo stopped and looked all the way up to meet Gandalf’s unsmiling face.

“Hello.”

“My dear Bilbo.” The age in his voice was as heavy as the sorrow. “Just speak with him.”

Bilbo huffed, cheeks tinting pink. Of all the increasingly irritating things for people to do to him this was by far the worst. “I do not know where everyone, including an elven king, gets the right to tell me what to do regarding my soulmate.” Bilbo had ripped the daisy chain into pieces and flung it down as he stood. “But my business is my own, thank you very much.”

He stormed away, out of the garden room and turned down the hall only to be stopped by a voice.

“If ya’ don’t stop pissin’ about I will tell him.” It was Dwalin who was leaning casually against a pillar admiring his nails. If Bilbo hadn’t been in such a tizzy he would have laughed. However, he just huffed and stormed away.

Dwalin watched him go before sighing and rubbing his face. This whole adventure was turning out to be more trying than he had ever thought it was going to be. More trying and probably the best thing that was ever to happen to him, not that he’d tell that to anyone. Even with his courting the young Ori, Dwalin felt a need to make sure that Bilbo and his king, the two incredible idiots, got their acts together.

Neither noticed a crownless king who had ducked around a pillar, and who now gazed at the hobbit who has stormed unknowingly by him. A thunderous looked was on the king’s face as he watched the huffy and angry hobbit disappear around the corner. 

 


	4. Dagger's Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah - bad at this having it beta'd thing.

Bilbo was grumbling under his breath most of the day, almost a week later, everyone avoided him and for good reason. Any dwarf who came near him was treated to a deadly looking glare. Bilbo had worked himself up into a tizzy, huffing and grumbling. Not even the tea, which now stood ice cold beside him had calmed him down.

He was sitting glowering a hole into his book when Kili dared to talk with him. He didn’t exactly acknowledge the young dwarf, but neither did he glare hostilely at him.

“Mr.Boggins.” Kili’s tentative voice sounded more young than Bilbo thought possible, and the hobbit deflated.

“Just Bilbo, please Kili.” He placed his book aside and looked up at the worried looking dwarf.

“Bilbo, everyone’s getting on the boats now.” Bilbo stood and grabbed his small bag off the ground, slinging it over his shoulder.

“And you’ve been sent to fetch me.” Tucking his book under his arm Bilbo smiled, if it was a bit tight Kili said nothing. “Lead the way.”

The walk down to the docks, a large, stone chamber carved in the bowels of the palace as awkward, and silent. That was until Dwalin joined them and with a stern glare sent Kili running down the hall without glancing back, and they stopped walking all together.

“Laddie.” Dwalin looked as if he was going to punch something, probably Bilbo. “If you don’t get your head out of your ass, I’ll tell him myself.” He jabbed a finger into Bilbo’s chest. “Fix this.” Then he strode away, large shoulders tense.

Bilbo stood frozen in the hallway, a chill going down him spine. He was going to be stuck on a large boat, with Thorin and no escape. With the threat of Dwalin now looming over him Bilbo knew he was running out of time. But surely Thorin wasn’t this dense. The hobbit had seen other dwarves flashing their stones near him, seeing if they glowed. Bilbo was sure that Thorin had tried, and it hadn’t so much as sparkled. He was certain, as soon as the dwarven king had walked into his home he was doomed. He was a split soul, he knew it. Thorin had probably found his other half, Bilbo was sure of it. Perhaps before the sacking of Erebor and that was why he seemed so bitter, so closed off.

At least, Bilbo thought, they weren’t bonded. So Thorin wouldn’t be pulled down when the fading set in fully. Scrubbing his face angrily with one hand, ignoring the sting of salt in his eyes Bilbo strode towards the docks. He would not cry, there was no use crying over something that he could not change.

* * *

Thorin stood by the docks, glowering hotly at the water as if it were causing all his problems. The hobbit was last to show up and Thorin could see the redness to his eyes and something shot through his chest, and emotion he couldn’t name. His blue eyes travelled over the company trying to figure out who could cause the hobbit so much pain, and not realize it.

His own stone had gone dim years before, it had glimmered once a long time ago in his exile. He had been on the way to Ered Luin after working in the villages of men for a few coins, and it had glimmered briefly in a crowd of people. A spike of hope had risen through the depression and had quickly been smothered when it had dimmed just as quickly. How someone could ever ignore the glow of a stone he couldn’t understand.

Thorin strode up onto the boat a cloud looming over him as he made is way on board. He wasn’t sure if he should confront Bilbo himself, or should he bully the non-bound dwarves. Neither seemed like a good idea, he was stuck between two options that he didn’t actually like. Rubbing his hand down his face he let out a deep sigh.

“What’s the matter lad?” Balin had come to stand next to him, concern crumpling his face.

“The Halfling.” Thorin rumbled quietly.

“Oh, aye.” Blain nodded, hand idly pulling at his beard. “We all are, but nothing has come of it. Have you tired your stone?”

“Nothing would come of it, it has glowed once and not again since. You know this well.” Thorin leaned heavily on the white, wooden rail of the ship.

“Aye, I know.” Balin nodded, hands dropping to his sides. “It will come to light on its own.”  

That did not calm the rolling turmoil in his stomach, something he hadn’t felt in a long while. Not since his trek down through the west into Hobbiton, eyes trained on his stone. Nothing had happened, in truth he had gotten lost because he had hoped to find them. Nevertheless, it remained dull, and listless in his hand. Therefore, he had tucked it away under his coats and furs.

He moved on and would lock that part of himself away, though it pained him to see another go through it when their One was so close. He’d figure this out, he’d talk with the halfling he decided. Not at that moment, he didn’t want to push the hobbit if his red rimmed eyes were anything to go by. Thorin sighed again.

* * *

Bilbo hid in the bottom of the boat, attempting to ignore the tilting and bobbing of the boat, the first day had him hidng from everyone, most especially Dwalin. For some reason the closer they got to The Lonely Mountain the more his gut got heavier with dread. He had to tell Thorin before Dwalin buts his nose in, something that Bilbo was sure the dwarf would do. Rubbing his face Bilbo sat down on a sack of grain. He did not know how to approach the dwarf at all.

“It does not do well to dwell on things that have not yet come to pass.” Thranduil stood in the doorway of what Bilbo realized was a storage room where he had hidden. “We may not know each other well, but I have lived long, and done many things. He is your soulmate it does you ill to ignore this connection.”

“Yes. I know. But what if I am a split soul?”

Thranduil nods, just slightly. “A crownless king he maybe, young master hobbit, a fool he is not.” With the grace only an elf can have, the elven king knelt and cradled the hobbit’s face in his large, slim hands. “Have faith in the Valar, they will not abandon you.” Then he stood just as quickly, and smiled a smile that was reminiscent of his mischievous son before he turned heel and left.

Bilbo felt better, the elven king had spoken wisdom and it was a comfort that someone understood.

“So it is me then?”

The voice alone made his blood chill, but the words spoken made his heart race and flutter like a trapped bird. He could have screamed and raged at the elven king now, the smile made so much more sense. When he finally looked up at the dwarf in the doorway his stomach was twisting. Thorin’s face was shadowed, and grim in the dim light of the ship. Bilbo couldn’t figure out what the man was feeling, and looked back down at his feet.

“Answer me.” Thorin’s voice cracked like a whip in the silence. Bilbo flinched, even if the tone of voice wasn’t harsh, but more desperate.

When the hobbit didn’t answer Thorin strode into the room, and came to stand in front of the seated halfling. Bilbo changed from staring at his own feet to staring at the dwarf’s boots, before catching sight of one large fingered hand slip under his coat.

Bilbo’s heartbeat against his ribs, as Thorin’s hand landed on the hilt of one of his many weapons. Was Thorin going to threaten him, kill him? Did Thorin think he was mocking his already lost soulmate? Bilbo’s mind raced and flitted through every horrible situation.

“Burglar.” Thorin’s breath ruffled Bilbo’s hair lightly, and he shut his eyes tightly. The sound of a blade leaving a sheath made Bilbo curl in on himself, but nothing came. No blow, no angry bellow.

Slowly he opened his eyes only to snap them shut at the bright light that filled the room. Only to open them again slowly to find Thorin standing a few feet back staring at him grimly.

* * *

Eavesdropping was unkingly, but having seen the elven king go into his Burglar’s hide away he felt like he had to, if only to protect the halfling. However, what passed between the two, made rage boil in his chest. Bilbo had known, had known they were connected.

He pressed himself against the wall, hand brushing over his stone. Unwilling to look at it, unwilling to dare hope that it was true. Then the elf walked by, eyes meeting his and a knowing smile on his face. He wished he could beat it off of the elf’s face, but that would harm his nephew this he knew. So he did the only thing he could, he stepped into the room.

Bilbo, he decided looked downtrodden like a huge weight rested on his shoulders. It made his heart race, now that he knew what the hobbit’s burden was.

“So it is me then?” He found himself saying before he realized it.

The hobbit’s reaction made him want to scream, to yell and demand. He wanted to know, to have what little hope he’d had ripped from him so long ago. But Bilbo did not answer, he stared at the floor and Thorin clenched his hands into white knuckled fists. At long last, those green eyes met his for a brief second and his throat clenched, and his stomach flipped. Bilbo looked away again and Thorin gritted his teeth.

“Answer me.” He tried to sound strong, unfeeling. But the desperate tone was there, he could hear it. The tang of hope and unending sadness he felt. He found himself moving without out a thought, striding towards his hobbit. For he knew it now, no matter what he knew, there was just one last test. Reaching into his heavy coat he reached for his stone, and wet his lips trying to fight down the fluttering in his throat.

“Burglar.” Pulling his stone out it blazed, hotter than even Smaug’s flame in his eyes. The curling gold at its center surrounded by the green of the Shire’s rolling hills and rimmed in the bluest blue that he had ever seen. Holding the dagger in front of him, its usually black crystal blade shone brightly like a sun. But it clattered to the ground as he met Bilbo’s eyes through the light.

“Why did you not tell me?” Thorin ignored the glassy sheen over Bilbo’s eyes, and the tightness of his own chest.

The shaky breath taken in by the shorter man hurt Thorin, but he didn’t move. He gripped the dagger tightly, it still glimmered and its light danced around the boat almost happily. He felt betrayed, as if his heart had been ripped from his chest.

“I…” Bilbo spoke, his voice small and thin. “I was scared.” Bilbo was staring at his feet again.

“Scared?” Thorin scoffed. “You were a coward.” The dwarf spat, and strode from the room throwing the dagger to the ground angrily.

He arrived top side and wanted to fight, to scream or to preferably kill something. But he stood at the bow of the boat, hands gripping the wood. Bowing his head he growled, ignoring the frustration and pain the washed over him in waves.

“He was worried,” Came the wizened voice of Gandalf. “with good reason.”

Thorin glared at nothing, and did not look up. “I see no reason for such an act.”

“Hobbits are a strange race.” Gandalf spoke now leaning on the railing. “They have a rare occurrence or split souls. Not as soulmates are split, but different. A hobbit may be born as the mate for one person, and that person may have found their soulmate already.” Thorin has snapped his head up to stare at the smoking wizard. “For one mate had been split into two, and the other is none the wiser. They waste away, they fade. Much like the elves when their mate denies them. Without a doubt Bilbo believed you to have found a mate in a another dwarf, that he was the split, the broken one. Doom to live eternity alone.”

Then he moved away, humming a quiet tune under his breath as he moved away.  Thorin felt bile rise in his throat. Such an existence would have been unbearable. Standing straight Thorin took a breath is and let it out slowly, trying to figure out what to do. Turning he headed back down into the ship, towards dare he say it, his mate.

* * *

Bilbo sat still until Thorin was gone. But he slipped off his perch and to the ground, picking up the now pitch black dagger. It was smooth, and glimmered in the dim light of the hull. He was crying though, the blade was blurred his chest ached. He gripped the blade, ignoring the biting of blade. Whatever friendship he had built with Thorin was ruined.

He was alone, again. 

 


	5. Blood on whetted Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry; I procrastinated. It happens.

Bilbo sat, crumpled like parchment, on the floor. It was his fault, his cowardice. He could already feel the icy fingers of rejection closing around his throat. It made everything seem hazy for a moment, and he found he could hardly breath.

 

“Fool of a Took.” He whispered harshly under his breath. He could now feel the biting of the blade he pulled his hands away. The blade still shimmered, but not the same way. Its black crystal blade glittered in the dim light of the cabin. He wanted to scream and rage against himself. It was horrible, the sickening feeling in his gut that seemed to rip a pained sob out on its very own.

 

He wondered if this is what his mother felt, when his father passed on that warm summer day, so many years ago. He remembered how the doctor had come out of the bedroom, but he didn’t have to say anything. Belladonna Baggins ne Took had fallen to the ground in a daze minute before. Bilbo knew then that his father was gone, and the warmth left his life then. Warmth that hadn’t truly returned until a rowdy group of dwarves had burst into his home and life. They made Bag End full of life again, and that was one reason Bilbo had gone. Thorin had cast his life in a deep contrast upon enter his home. When once his life had been a dim and ordinary life for a well to do hobbit, if not a bit lonely it was then, upon laying eyes on his mate lit anew.

 

He wanted to ask many things of his mother then, wishing she was still there. Had everything went cold and she couldn’t breathe? Had everything seemed dimmer, and farther away the more it settled in her head that he was gone? What had she felt when she took up his father’s old preening knife, and done what all mourning hobbits had done.

 

Bilbo gazed down at the knife in his hand and raised it up, testing the edge on his thumb. It was sharp, not that he’d expect Thorin to keep a dull blade around. Then without a second thought he grabbed a fist full of hair on his foot and hacked it off. The blade sliced through it with ease, and he took two more swipes, cutting himself once before he did the same to the other foot leaving them bare and cold.

 

He stared at his bare feet for a moment, a cold flash of memory at seeing his mother’s feet the same way a week before she faded into a wisp of the woman she once was. A small broken sob came from his lips before he could stop it. So many times he tried not to think about, how she had smiled at him in the beginning, but soon she left. Physically she was there, but she carried on in diminished light a flickering glow where once she rivalled the stars.

 

In the end, she had thought he was his father and Bilbo had hidden from her. It haunted him even now, how he had stolen away, avoiding his dying mother. He had never forgiven himself for that, never expected to be forgiven. He supposed that keeping this from Thorin was another thing to add to the list. He had been his own undoing.

 

With bitter anger now settled in his stomach he grabbed a large handful of his golden curls and gave them a sharp pull. Then he pulled the knife through them, tossing them to the ground and grabbed another fist full, not paying attention as he ripped chunks out of his scalp and the knife nipped his ears.

 

He deserved all that he got, he had abandoned his mother, and had lied to his other half. All that he had done had led him here, to his fading. He deserved nothing but the lonely, dark existence now granted to him.

 

Bilbo grabbed another handful of hair.

 

~*~

 

Thorin walked back into the depths of the ship and found himself dragging his feet. What would he say, how would fix any of this? His chest felt tight and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling to himself. His one was here, with him on this very ship. Something he had given up for the good of his people, he believed he would never feel the joy of having a one.

 

He stopped, taking a breath through his nose he tried to pick words to say. How would he apologize, fix this. How would he explain that a dwarf knew his one once and would never let go. How would he explain that Bilbo would never want for anything? Thorin huffed out a small laugh. He was getting ahead of himself.

 

Rubbing a rough hand down his face, Thorin thought back on Gandalf’s words. Split souls, Bilbo had thought that he had already had a mate, someone he lost. It made his gut clench knowing that now, and remembering the harsh words he had spat at the hobbit not minutes before. What could he say to fix that?

 

In truth he’d give anything. He’d fall to his knees and beg forgiveness. He’s sheer off his beard and hair, offering the onyx strands to the hobbit in guilt. He’d make it up somehow, even if he would have to promise him all the riches in Erebor.

 

Standing straight from where he slumped against the wall, Thorin took another deep breath. He just hoped Bilbo would speak with him. He had acted atrociously. It did not take the sting that Bilbo had kept it from him, that he had known from the moment they had met they were for each other. How had the halfling taken it? Being so close and yet believing that Thorin had another? It made the dwarf’s stomach clench.

 

The closer he moved to the room the louder it got, the sound he thought had been something in the ship, or perhaps the river splashing at the sides of the great wooden beast. It was clear now, it had been Bilbo. The broken and painful nosies echoed down the hallway, even though they were quiet, truly not much louder than a mouse. Thorin began to move faster, his legs moving without his own thought. A deep, ancient urge was brought to the surface to sooth him One.

 

When he turned into the door, bile rose in his throat. Bilbo was desperately grasping at his hair, shearing it off in savage strokes that cut his scalp, ears and fingers. Thorin took in the situation, noting that his once proudly groomed feet were bare, and bleeding. A large gash stretched from his pinky toe to the center of his foot. His once golden curls lay, mostly, in a heap on the floor. They were spattered with blood, and seemed to gleam less now that they were detached from the head they truly belonged.

 

Thorin stumbled forward, hands outstretched as Bilbo hacked more at what was left of his once golden head. The dwarf fell to his knees in front of the hobbit and grasped the knife, stilling its unrelenting movements.

 

“Bilbo, please.” Thorin’s voice was cracked around the edges. When he was finally able to pry the knife out of the hobbit’s blood slicked hands, Thorin tossed it away ignoring the way it glowed now. It seemed less beautiful now, covered in his One’s blood. The smaller of the two had a far away, and distracted look upon his face, he hardly blinked when a rough callused hand rested upon his cheek. “I am sorry.” The dwarf said trying to catch the hobbit’s eye.

 

Thorin cupped his face gently, even as pain seemed to stretch through his limbs like a lazy, sun warmed cat. He had caused this, his One was hurting himself because he had let his temper win again.

 

~*~

 

Bilbo began to come back when he heard and felt something different in the dim world which was collapsing around him. It was warm, like the sun after the Fell Winter. He could feel the drips of blood that ran down his face, but something else was there. It was presence that was touching his face. He tried to blink through the fog that seemed to cover his brain and vision.

 

The first thing he saw was midnight black hair which cascaded around his face like a curtain. The second was a low, rumbling voice which was saying nothing he could understand but the tone was gentle and it calmed the storm in Bilbo’s heart. When he finally raised his eye and met a ice blood gazr, Bilbo felt the air rush from his body.

 

“Thorin.” He murmured. The hobbit raised his hand and brushed his fingers through the short beard.

 

The dwarf had stilled but continued to speak in what Bilbo could only guess was khuzdul. It was low and rolling through the air Bilbo thought, unlike sindarin or westron. It was no wonder that it was a secret language it would feel wrong for something to be so common. It was odd to hear his name in the mix of the rolling tones of the dwarvish language.

 

“Bilbo.” Thorin leaned his head forward until they touched foreheads. “Why have you hurt yourself so?”

 

Bilbo looked down and away, unsure what to say. He let his hands fall into his lap and broke eye contact.

 

“I ruined it.” He said, voice rough and thick with emotion. How could he tell Thorin that this was all his fault. How he had kept it from Thorin, because he was a coward like Thorin said. How he wasn’t the first person he had abandoned.

 

“You have ruined nothing, I am at fault.” Thorin grabbed the hobbit’s hands.

 

Bilbo shattered then, tears falling from his eyes in fat drops. His bloody head fell to Thorin’s shoulder, where he melted into the warm body.

 

~*~

 

Thorin let his hand rest lightly on Bilbo’s back as sobs rocked the smaller form. Holding him Thorin took stock of the bleeding wounds on his head. They needed Oin, the wounds weren’t deep but they bled a lot, like most head wounds. With less grace than he would have liked, he picked the hobbit up, letting his head lay on his shoulder.

 

The hobbit was hiccuping and still seemed to distant that Thorin felt like he would become sick at the sight of his soulmate so dejected. He moved as swiftly as possible through the halls as he could without jarring Bilbo too much.

 

He finally came to Oin’s cabin which served as a small infirmary, since many of the dwarves had sickness brought on from being on the elvish boat. It had been humorous at first, but now it seemed like unneeded spectators.

 

“Oin.” Thorin said as he burst through the doors, “Please, he is bleeding.”

 

The elderly dwarf was clearing a bed as fast a possible and then motioned for Thorin to lay the hobbit down. The healer had a grim and serious face as he checked over the now sleeping hobbit.

 

“How did this happen?” The gray dwarf asked as he grabbed herbs and mixed a salved in a small wooden bowl. His movements were harsh, but exact as he didn’t break eye contact with the would be king.

 

“He did it to himself.” Thorin stood to the side, allowing the other dwarf to do his work undisturbed.

 

“He felt so much shame? For what?” Oin had wiped blood from the hobbit face with a damp cloth, and applying salve. Then with quick and efficient strokes evened out  the hobbit’s hair. Then he moved slowly to the hobbit’s feet, waiting for Thorin to answer.

 

“He felt shame for keeping the truth from me.” Thorin ran a hand down his face.

 

Oin nodded and began to bandage the hobbit. Silence blanketed the room, the two others in the room, Gloin and Bofur had been silent at the grave since their leader had entered. To shear off one’s hair was a form of dishonor to them, it also spoke of deep mourning. It was the reason Thorin’s beard was so short, kept clipped and clean until his home returned.

 

Seeing their burglar’s bare head, and feet bleeding made all of the dwarves uncomfortable. Bofur alone stared at Thorin accusingly. He knew this had been at least partly the king’s fault.

 

“What truth?” asked Oin neutrally.

 

“He is my One.” Throin breathed in barely a whisper. The silence seemed to double in strength. The whole company knew of his plight in Bree. How he believed he had lost his one before ever laying eyes on them. It was a story that had been whispered through Ered Luin, that the dwarven prince had lost his mate.

 

They could all understand now, it was likely the king had lost his temper, not uncommon. All three dwarves understood it though, Bilbo had known and had said nothing. To someone who had given up their One for the good of their people, finding out they were so close and knew. Bofur stood then and nodded to the king and left, shoulders stiff.

 

Thorin sighed and looked to Oin and Gloin who both looked at him with blank expressions. Turmoil rolled in his gut and Thorin looked between the two and then Bilbo.

 

“You knife Oin.” He held out his hand to the healer, who hesitated at the request. “Your blade.” The tone was more harsh, and the blade was placed in his hand slowly.

 

“Thorin-” Gloin began but was stopped by the clod look he was given.

 

Throin then gathered his hair in one hand, tightly pulling it and met the other dwarves eyes. “I have shamed myself by harming my One.”

 

Onyx hair fell to the floor, accompanied by the sound of falling beads. The brothers watched solemnly as Thorin’s once proud mane fell away leaving him bare and strange looking. His now shoulder length hair fell across his face, as he leaned forward hands bracketing Bilbo’s sleeping head.

  
“Leave me.”

 


	6. Of Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life got in the way.

The first thing Bilbo was aware of was how cold his feet felt, and the tingling sensation that usually came with one of Oin’s pain salves. It was not a feeling he had felt since the Carrock. The second feeling was that of something warm enveloping his hand. Whatever it was, it was large and slightly rough. A hand he supposed. As he sat there trying to remember how he had ended up in some place where he needed Oin’s skills it hit him like a ton of bricks. They tumbled like an avalanche, falling like that time as a boy he had knocked over the large snow drift onto Bonny Cotton.

 

He had cut off his hair in the middle of his despair. He remembered tearing chunks of hair out, and the warm trickle of blood as he tossed the strands away from him. It made his stomach roll, thinking on what he had been feeling. The cold rejection which has pulsed out of his body, bones seemingly made of ice. He didn’t want to open his eyes, he could just see the pitying faces the others would give him. Hair, he knew, was important in dwarven culture. He was going to think on Thorin for a moment, when a blurred memories swan to the front of his head. Of someone tearing the black blade from his hands, and warm, rough hands gently touching his face, and a deep, rumbling voice full of worry.

 

His heart was thudding in his chest, Thorin had found him! What had he thought, did he carry him to Oin? Panic set into his chest then, like a kicking rabbit his heart tried to burst from his ribs. After the rather horrible revealing of being his soulmate, he couldn’t imagine what Thorin had thought.

 

When he finally opened his eyes the light was dim and he could see the shifting light off the water through the small port hole beside the bed. After blinking a few times, ignoring the light spots that popped in his vision from staring at the shimmering light, he dared to lift his head and look about. The panic filled pattering of his heart doubled at the sight of Thorin sitting next to his bed.

 

The dwarf didn’t seem to notice him and was staring down at their clasped hands. But what Bilbo noticed first a foremost, other than the way that the dwarf’s hand clutched tightly around his much smaller hand, was how Thorin’s once great mane was no sheared short, failing loose around his ears.

 

“You hair.” Bilbo’s voice was rough and croaked from his lips.

 

Thorin’s eyes snapped up and bore into the hobbit’s eyes with such intensity that the twisting, sick feeling came back and Bilbo gazed down at the blankets. The silence stretched out awkwardly for a moment, neither quite sure what to say.

 

Thorin’s hand tightened for a moment then quickly loosened and removed it from Bilbo’s hand. He then began to gaze straight down, hands curled loosely in his lap. Bilbo reached a bit towards him, craving the warmth of his hand once again. But found himself pulling his hand to his chest, not noticing how Thorin’s shoulders slumped lower at the gesture.

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo said, fiddling with the hem of his blanket. He didn’t dare look at the dwarf beside him, even when he heard the intake of sharp breath.

 

“Bilbo.” The low timber of Thorin’s voice sent a tingle through Bilbo’s bones. “You have nothing to apologise for.” His voice was tight, but he did not move or didn’t seem to from what Bilbo could see from the corner of his eye.

 

“But I kept it from you.” Bilbo’s voice was small, even to his own ears.

 

“It is your right, you have every right to believe yourself to have come too late.” Thorin looked up, his eyes turbulent, churning like a storm at sea. “I have hurt you greatly, my dear hobbit, and so I have cut my hair.” Bilbo looked like he was about to protest. “As it should be.”

 

Thorin’s hand engulfed Bilbo’s once more. “I shall never forgive myself, to find you mutilating yourself.” His words teetered out, and silence engulfed the room once more. Thorin watched Bilbo’s face, with eyebrows furrowed.  

 

The hobbit’s mind was awhirl with the dwarf’s words. He had cut his hair because of him, he had hurt Bilbo but nothing that Bilbo hadn’t been a direct catalyst in. Now they were both shamed, he supposed. Any hobbit in their right mind would see his harshly shaved self, and shrink back in disgust. Betraying one’s soulmate was the darkest crime for a hobbit.

 

Bilbo rubbed his eyes and then took a large breath, leaving his one hand within Thorin’s as he did this. What could he say to explain this, without revealing things in his culture which were their darkest secrets.

 

“You need not apologize, I did what I did for the same reason you have cut your hair.” Bilbo mumbled and Thorin’s grip tightened a bit. He took a large breath. “There is something I must tell you, but it will have to have a brief explanation.”

 

* * *

Thorin’s stomach was twisting and his heart hammering as he held Bilbo’s limp hand. The shame went straight into the heart of him, infecting it like veins of gold. The feel of his hair upon his cheeks was odd, and disconcerting. But even cutting off his hair did nothing to quell the shame and guilt curling around his shoulders like smoke.

 

His fingers were still tinged red from the blood that had come from his One. He was not sure how he was to face the company, let alone Gandalf and most especially Bilbo himself. Thorin squeezed his eye closed, attempting to will away the heaviness in his chest.

 

“Your hair.” Thorin’s heart stuttered in his chest, even as he turn his gaze up to look at Bilbo’s pale face. His harshly shaved head, causing Thorin to stare at him and causing him to feel even worse when Bilbo looks away.

Licking his lips Thorin tightened his hand around Bilbo’s, before he reluctantly released it. He did not deserve to hold his One’s hand.

 

Whatever was buzzing about in the Hobbit’s head may have caused him momentary madness, from what Thorin could understand. For he was quite sure an apology had just past through his lips. Amusement bubbled in his chest slightly, but died quickly as he spoke. He felt wrong, speaking to Bilbo. The burglar should hate him, should curse his name. But here he was, acting as if he was to blame. Thorin couldn’t understand how the hobbit could be so berating, as if Thorin’s reaction had been reasonable. Thorin was still angry of the secrecy, but more at himself for being so blind.

 

How had he not checked his own stone, no matter if he thought his One lost. Hadn’t he known that Bree was close to the Shire, as hope had filled his chest briefly as he rode through the small village before getting impossibly lost. But he hadn’t taken out the dagger in years, and hadn’t dared take it out in Bree for fear of finding his one and abandoning his quest.

 

“I shall never forgive myself, to find you mutilating yourself.” The air seemed to rush from his lungs, making him unable to continue his apology. How had he let this happen, he breathed heavily through his nose. Even as he tried to memorise the feeling of Bilbo’s hand in his own, how even with all their adventures they were soft, and slim.

 

“You need not apologize, I did what I did for the same reason you have cut your hair.” Thorin set his jaw, ready to protest but the Hobbit continued. “There is something I must tell you, but it will have to have a brief explanation.” Thorin nodded solemnly, for Bilbo’s tone was dark and held no room for teasing.

 

“There is a Hobbit tale, told to scare young fauntlings.”Thorin perked an eyebrow, and Bilbo smiled, patting his hand. “It has never been told to an outsider before, but an exception can be made.” Thorin’s heart fluttered, a secret was a precious thing to share, to a dwarf it was something shared between only those close in blood or love. “It’s said that years ago there was a river dweller, not much different from a hobbit. He had been blessed, finding his heart’s voice early on and living happily.” As Bilbo attempted to it up, Thorin gentling pulled him up with one hand, and with the other rearranged the pillows behind him. “Thank you. And so it goes that they were fishing, and his heart’s song fell into the water and he became distraught with worry. However when his beloved resurfaced they were not alone. With them came an object of great evil, and he wanted in for his own. So he murdered his Heart’s song, and took it.” Thorin was horrified by this story, a child’s story should not be so scarring he thought. “Some say that the object was a great jewel, others a golden ring. He was hated, scorned and eventually fled. The evil of what he had done tainted him, and the artifact gave him unnatural long life.”

 

When Bilbo stopped talking, Thorin squeezed his hand once more, letting his eyes take in the worried creases on the Hobbits face. “In the goblin caves, Thorin I fell. Deep into the cavern far past where any goblin lived. There I met a creature who was about the size of a hobbit, and there I found this.” Thorin starred as Bilbo pulled a golden ring from his pocket. “I believe this creature to be the one from my tale, and I fear what is to come because of this ring. But you must understand why I tell you this. To betray our Heart’s Voice in anyway you are shamed, you are no longer trusted, and will, in the end, fade. With that you pale, and you become sick.”

 

Thorin’s gut twisted again, and his grip tightened around Bilbo’s soft hand. “Will you die?” His voice was rough in the heavy silence which had descended.

 

“I do not know. Usually a betrayal is coupled with a rejection, we aren’t sure which kills.” Bilbo rubbed his eyes, fighting back tears that seemed to surge forth.

 

Thorin brought his hands to frame the hobbit’s face, running thumbs under the hobbit’s hazel eyes. Then with a reverence he lowered his forehead to Bilbo’s.

 

“If it is in my power, I shall keep you with me for as long as I may.” The dwarf met his One’s eyes. “For as long as you will have me.”

 

* * *

Bilbo walked onto the deck of the ship with caution, gaze aimed at the floor. But the warmth of Thorin’s hand around his gave him strength at last to look up. The first person he saw was Oin, who was bustling towards him with a determined look in his face.

 

“You should not be up and about so soon.” He grouched, as his hands fluttered over the hobbit’s form.

 

“I am fine, truly.” Bilbo said with a small smile. But allowed the elderly dwarf to continue his check. Many of the company stared openly, at both him and Thorin. He suposed they looked like an odd pair, all shaved and shorn. But the company was no diffrent, though they seemed a bit awkward at first. From what the hobbit could tell.

 

Bilbo saw it, before Thorin, Gandalf storming towards them a dark look upon his face. Before the wizard could utter a single word Bilbo pointed at him. “It is both our faults, we are both idiots.” That statement seemed to be loud in the too quiet air. The first thing to break the silence was Kili’s laughter, which seemed to fill the air.

 

Everything seemed to swing back into normality, mostly. He saw that people, mostly the dwarves didn’t look at Thorin unless need be. So one day, Bilbo decided to get to the bottom of it and grabbed Dwalin by the arm and hauled him away from Ori, with a quick excuse me. Dwalin stumbled after him, seeing as Bilbo had him by the top of his shirt, causing him to stoop. When they were alone, finally Bilbo spoke.

 

“Why is everyone avoiding Thorin?” Dwalin’s eyes widened a bit, and he opened his mouth. “And if you say it is a dwarven secret, I will do something you will not like.”

The large dwarf stared at him in silence a while, as if weighing his odds. Bilbo crossed his arms and glares expectantly up at the tattooed dwarf, it seemed as if their roles had changed. Dwalin shifted nervously from one foot to another, and eventually withered under Bilbo’s stare.

 

“He cut his hair, and usually when this is done the dwarf is shunned. So we’re not quite sure what to do, seeing as we are travelling as a company and he is our king.” Bilbo scoffed and his glare intensified, and Dwalin continued on. “It makes many of them uncomfortable.”

 

“And you.” Bilbo’s voice was like a whip, and Dwalin flinched, actually flinched.

 

“Thorin is Thorin, and I was there when he cut his beard, I accept his choice.” Dwalin said, but there as a pitch to his voice, which Bilbo understood as he was also uncomfortable.

 

“I’m going to share with you a hobbit secret, master dwarf.” Dwalin stared at him, but nodded his head once. “Hobbits are just as proud of our hair, and there are meaning in what we adorn it with. Had this happened there, had anyone seen my sheared head and feet, I’d be treated much the same. But no one would sell me goods, and I’d find a symbol carved into my door for the Smeagol. Then one day, I would be expected to just be gone.”

 

Dwalin seemed aghast and then a frown etched onto his face. But it disappeared when Bilbo grabbed his shirt again and hauled him down. “So you better tell the company to get over themselves. Thorin is your king, and you his subjects.”

 

Dwalin nodded and stood back up when the hobbit let him go. Bilbo watched him walk away, and tried to ignore the tears that gathered in his eyes. He hadn’t told Dwalin, of course, that most missing hobbits were found downstream in the Brandywine.

 

“There is, apparently, much I don’t know about hobbits.” Gandalf's low timber echoed  behind the hobbit, causing Bilbo to jump.

  
“How long have you been standing there?” Bilbo snapped defensively. The wizard just smiled gently at him. “You will not repeat, nor write down what you have heard.” Bilbo then marched away, muttering about meddling wizards.


	7. Herders and Rings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short. Sorry!

The boat was silent, the dim lanterns on the deck cast the white wood is a strange light. Thorin could admit that it has a strange beauty. But nothing could compare to the beauty of Erebor, and her vaulted halls. They had ten days on the boat, and five on foot before they reached Laketown. He was unsure how to proceed with the men. Rubbing a hand down his face he turned to look at his company. They were laughing, Bofur having finished singing a bawdy drinking song. He easily picked out Kili, and sat between his brother and his mate. It was a calming sight, knowing his nephew would hopefully live for ages with his mate by his side.

His steel eyes swept the group again, looking for a head which was just gaining his hair back. He claimed it was quick hobbit healing, but Thorin had caught a certain trio of princes slipping a powder into his and Bilbo’s food and water. He trusted his nephews and even, begrudgingly, the elf to not poison him or Bilbo. But whatever it was caused their hair grow faster, though still slow.

“Looking for me?” Thorin found Bilbo standing at his left side, a small smile on his face.

“Uh- yes. Indeed I was master hobbit.” Thorin had to swallow past the dryness in his throat. They were alone, a few meters away from the group. He had not had any real interaction with the hobbit alone in the day two days. In the end though his company seemed to treat him as they once had, seemingly ignoring the strangeness that was him without his hair. 

 

“Laketown is going to be trying, from what Thranduil has told me the leader of these humans is greedy and blind to all but gold. All while his people starve. We must tread lightly.” Bilbo tugged his ear suddenly, and Thorin squawked. “That mean’s your majesty, no speeches no parading around. We are a traveling band in the company of the elves, celebrating soulmates. Do you understand?” Bilbo was smiling and Thorin suddenly realized how badly he had judged the hobbit. 

“Yes, will you release me now?” Thorin said, noticing how the whole boat was looking at them. 

“Of course, but only for a kiss.” Bilbo’s cheeky grin made something in Thorin’s stomach flutter. He had been a fool, and hoped that one day he’d be able to make it up to the hobbit for harming him in such a way. When his lips met his hobbit’s it was everything and nothing like he expected. Pulling back after the chaste kiss Thorin smiled, his small private smile. 

“When we are once again home, you shall be my consort. And shall want for nothing. From food to your silly plants.” 

“Never say plants are silly to a hobbit, if you plan on living in that hobbit presence.” Bilbo then strode away with a bounce in his step. 

Thorin stared after him. Biblo seemed to have recovered from the trauma of their reveal. It was not something he shall ever forget. It was strange to see such a soft, tender hearted creature looking forward without the burden of the past. 

“Extraordinary creatures hobbits.” Gandalf’s voice commented with a smile beside him. “You can read all there is to know about them in a day, and they can still surprise you.” Gandalf patted the dwarf’s shoulder. “Now I must speak to your consort on a most important matter.” 

Thorin watched the wizard walk away, eyes scrutinizing the wizard as he left. But he turned to find his nephews grinning at him and sent a prayer to the valor to preserve what patience he had. Kili bound over and all but knocked him over. 

“Looks very official uncle.” Fili called over his brother's head.

“Neither of you are too old for me to give you a good beating.” Thorin grouched and was followed by laughter as he went and hid between Gloin and Balin. Both who were smiling smugly and his blushing face. 

* * *

“Bilbo.” The hobbit in question turned around to find the towering figure of a wizard. The gray clad man looked grim, causing Bilbo’s brows to crease. 

“Yes?” Bilbo smiled at Gandalf and dropped under the wizard’s scrutiny. 

“What did you find in the caves?” Gandalf asked bending towards the hobbit, who took a small step back. “I was no certain until Thorin found you to be his soulmate. The darkness that permeated the air around you was not something from your hobbit heart.” Bilbo’s eyes were wide, as he rested a hand on his pocket. “What did you find, my young friend?” 

“N-nothing.” Gandalf's shadow grew and the candles dimmed, Bilbo gulped and through of Thorin, and his smile. With a blink he shook his head. “This - this ring.” He pulled out the simple gold band and Gandalf frowned and grabbed the trinket from him with a handkerchief. 

“You must not worry about this anymore, my dear friend, you have a dragon to face.” Then the wizard left, and Bilbo felt lighter than before he had since the journey began. 

“Odd.” 

* * * 

The boat was boring Kili and Fili decided. So they set to have fun much to the chagrin of the elves. Legolas thought it amazingly funny how they pranked all upon the boat. Lightening the mood as they drew ever closer to the mountain. 

In their cabin Kili and Legoas laided together in silence. The warm glowing of their bond making both content to lay in the dark. 

“Did you wish for an elf?” Kili asked voice soft and unsure. 

“I thought it would be so, but I wished for my partner more than anything.” Legolas smiled. “You do not disappoint.” Silence followed briefly. “And you, did you wish for a dwarf.” 

“No, I wished for someone to love completely.” Kili kissed Legolas slowly. “and you do not disappoint.” 

* * * 

“We need a plan.” Dwalin said to Thorin on the fourth day. “we cannot just walk into the town without attention.” 

“Attention will be had.” Thorin said, taking a swig from his mug. Wine. Elf drink. What he wouldn’t give for good dwarven ale. “The elf king has said that we shall travel like a royal caravan. The people of Laketown, more importantly the mayor know not to block his pathway. He states that his army will meet us upon the ridge, out of the view of the town.” 

“And you trust the elf.” Dwalin said gruffly. Hands never still as he sharpened one of his many knives. 

“I trust the family of Kili’s soulmate. Would you not do the same?” Thorin looked at his best friend. 

“I may have a suggestion.” Bilbo’s voice came from behind them, causing both dwarves to jump. 

“Yes, Bilbo.” 

“I may be able to procure us some help, from my kin.” 

“Your kin? Hobbits?” Dwalin chuckled. Thorin grinned at him mate. 

“Bilbo my love, hobbits do not leave their homes.” Thorin blinked at Bilbo’s dark glare. “Except for the exceptionally amazing ones?” 

“Not the hobbits. You pig headed dwarf. The ents.” Bilbo flicked Thorin’s ear. 

“The ents?” 

“Treehearders. They were in the Shire. I felt them in Mirkwood. But they rest.” Bilbo smiled. “I need to talk to Gandalf.” And the hobbit scurred away.

“He did say treeherders correct.” Thorin said looking at his best comrade. 

“Aye.”


	8. Of Sisters and Goodbyes

Lake Town was not in anyway pleasant, Bilbo decided he’d rather be back on the stupid boat. Yavanna preserve him, he had grabbed his mate? Betrothed? Whatever, by the ear and reminded him to keep his royal mouth shut. Thorin had understood, but sometimes (read all of the time) these bearded idiots seemed to be quite thick. He was going to keep an eye on Thorin as they passed through. Scratch that all of them, darrows, elves and wizards were all under his eye, useless the lot of them.

 

Thranduil had been surprised at his request of ents, and had not even known they were there. Bilbo had written a specific list of things for the elves to do to wake them and get them on their side. Apparently waking the Entwives wasn’t difficult neither was getting them to agree to battle. (They having been caught there by the evil that had poisoned the woods, and killed the entlings.) They would be moving with the army, and the healthy bits of forest were apparently coming with them. Thranduil was both pleased and suspicious. But Bilbo perked his better groomed brow at the elf and had cowed him. Which was surprising and had caught the hobbit off guard. A few of the king’s guard had look at him in awe.

 

They were all idiots. All of them, and Bilbo was about five seconds away from knocking heads together as they rode through the horrible floating city when someone spoke to Thorin. Asking why Dwarves were traveling with elves. And to his utter shock, surprise and pleasure Thorin kept his huge, howling screamer closed and stated they had found soulmates and were celebrating. Many of the humans then stepped away at the haughty glares of the elves, and dwarves. Bilbo lay back on the cushioned seat of the carriage, which had been waiting after the boats. There had been eight of them, and a ton of horses as well. It was insane, Bilbo just couldn’t believe they were just striding through a town all willy nilly.

 

The ride through town as uneventful in the end, no one except a man named Bard had been suspicious. Bilbo felt a wave of relief pour over him as they town faded into the distance.

 

It was nightfall when they arrived at the huge camp of warriors and ents. Thorin stood off to one side gazing up at the lonely mountain when Bilbo found him. He had nothing to say so he grabbed the darrow's hand and squeezed. Thorin turned to look at him, a small smile on his face.

 

"We're going to get your home back Thorin." Bilbo said with a smile of his own. But before the would be king could respond an elf came up to them, earning Thorin’s worst glare.

 

“I apologize for the interruption , but the ent-wives wish to speak with you Master Bilbo.” The elf looked at the hobbit, a small smile on his lips and Bilbo nodded his head in consent. The shortest of the three kissed the dwarrow’s cheek with a smile.

 

“I’ll be back, I promise.” Then he hurried after the elf which easily moved in front of him. Thorin watched with a clouded expression, until Dwalin cuffed him on the back.

 

“The elves aren’t stealing him. These ent-wives are impressive, though they would give any dam a run for ‘er money.”

 

Thorin felt a smile on his lips even before he could stop it. “Even Dis?”

 

“I think Dis would quite like them actually.” Dawlin laughed.

 

“That is a frightening thought.” Thorin chuckled and grinned at his best friend.

 

“A raven has arrived from her,” He held out a scroll to the prince.

 

“Thanks, my friend.” He unrolled the small note and read the note from his younger sister with a smirk, which fell from his face. “Dis is bringing two battalions that left a week after us. They should be here by now, should they not?”

 

“Aye.” Dwalin’s face became clouded and angry. “That is m-”

 

“Approaching soldiers.” Someone yelled, and everyone grabbed the nearest weapon and stood. “Dwarves.”

 

“Typical.” Thorin mumbled and sheathed his sword. As he made it to the front line he could see his sister proudly riding a pony, looking very happy with herself. He spotted his mate talking to what he could only describe as giant talking trees, apparently this was an insult according to Dwalin who was scolded by Bilbo earlier. Everything it seemed was working in their favor, and it was impossible to see what would go wrong. (If one put the fire breathing wyrm out of their minds, Thorin was trying.)

 

Once everything was settled Dis came to see him and had an angry sort of look in her eye. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? Then he spotted Biblo trotting behind her giving him a sheepish smile. Mahal no, she was coming to yell at him f-

 

“No note! Not even a whisper that you’d found your one! Nothing! What if you had died! I wouldn’t have known and I’d have put our family to shame!” She was red in the face, Thorin was having flashbacks of his mother.

 

“Dis, please. It hasn’t been that long. And please don’t speak of my death it makes me feel ill.” As soon as he spoke, Bilbo made a face as if he’d just seen a bad burn or wound, hissing through his teeth. Dis reared back and came at his full force.

 

“Makes you ill! It makes me ill! With worry! What about your dear hobbit! Or your nephews! I swear every male born in the Durin line has mud for brains!” She was about to begin another rant when Thorin hugged her tight and she let out a shuddering breath. “You left in the middle of the night Thorin, and made me send my boys after you, no note. No goodbye. You could have died and I’d have never seen you again.”

 

Thorin felt like an ass. By Bilbo and Dwalin’s faces he was an ass. Damn.

 

Pulling back he stared into his sister’s ice blue eyes and smiled. “I will always return to my family. Nothing can stop me. Durin’s day is nearly upon us, and we have forces beyond I could imagine. And you should yell at Kili also his mate is an elf.” Thorin whispered cheekily in her ear.

 

“You two are going to be the death of me.” She said before standing full height and striding towards her youngest son, who cowered before her.

 

“That was interesting.” Bilbo said sliding up next to him. “And we are going to have conversations about proper goodbyes Master Oakenshield.”

 

“It was a mistake on my part, I had been running late and, well it was poor planning.” Thorin concluded under Bilbo’s withering glare.

 

“Anyways, The Ent-wives wish to meet with you. Now they speak quite slowly normally but they can talk to me quite fast in entish. Apparently the male counterparts take ages to speak about anything. good thing we gathered the wives then, or we’d never get anywhere.”

  
Thorin smiled as the hobbit lead him towards the talking trees. (Note to self, do not call them talking trees.) 


End file.
